Silver Hawk 1x01 -- Opening Act
by Alpha2099
Summary: After a disastrous incident, Captain Beaumont Winchester is assigned to the new starship Silver Hawk. His first mission seems to be an innocuous delivery, but it quickly becomes more than that.
1. Chapter 1

Admiral Tomlinson strode with purpose to her office, her eyes locked tightly to the datapad she was reading. She knew her way around the starbase like the back of her hand, so she never had to look up to see where she was going. It was up to the people around her to get out of the way as she walked past. One officer, a gold-shirted lieutenant, had the bad luck of bumping into her arm in one of the corridors.

"Watch where you're going!" she barked.

"S-sorry, ma'am," the young lieutenant said. He put his head down and quickly scurried away.

Admiral Tomlinson huffed and continued walking to her office, no longer looking at the datapad. The frustration of losing one of her days off was clearly visible, though she had a reputation around the Federation of being quite hot-headed, even vicious at times. Some people thought it was her way of compensating for being short, others thought it came from being a redhead, even if only lightly. Whatever the underlying cause, today had its own reason, a reason with a name. Tomlinson reached the orange pneumatic door that marked her office and drew a breath, preparing for what she was about to deal with.

The door slid open and Tomlinson looked inside. Sitting at one end of her office table was the reason for her losing her day off: Captain Beaumont Winchester. He rose when he saw her in the doorway. He was about six feet tall, more than a full head above her. He carried himself well, though it was impossible to hide how virtually rail-thin he was. He stood straight with his shoulders spread outward, but he did not have a muscular build and as such he never seemed very imposing. He broke his posture momentarily to adjust part of his wavy brown hair.

"Sit down, Captain," Tomlinson said. Her voice was light, unlike when she yelled at the lieutenant in the corridor.

"Yes, ma'am," said Winchester. His voice was deep, but still carried a personable tone to it.

Tomlinson sat in her chair and placed the datapad on the table. She looked at Winchester but did not say anything right away. She folded her hands in her lap and raised her eyebrows. "I think you know why you're here," she said.

Winchester took a deep breath before speaking. "Well, to be honest, Admiral, I imagine I might be here for any number of reasons."

Tomlinson could already feel the tension running through her body, but she did her best to stay calm. "Starfleet Command has requested that I review your record of late," she said. She glanced up to the ceiling. "Computer, begin recording," she said. A small chirp signified a response. She began to dictate from the datapad: "Under orders of Starfleet Command, this recording is a formal inquiry into the activities of Captain Beaumont Winchester, presided over by Admiral Amelia Tomlinson at Starbase 419 on stardate 81007.8."

Winchester grinned. "This sounds serious," he said.

"Of course it's serious," said Tomlinson. "That's the whole point of this. Starfleet takes its duties as an organization very seriously. It expects – no, rather, it _demands_ – that all of its officers treat their duties the same way. You, Captain Winchester, do not seem to understand the level of respect your duties demand."

Winchester sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I believe, Admiral, if you were to speak with my former crew members, they would tell you that I have been a fine captain."

"In terms of morale, yes," said Tomlinson. "Feedback on your personal performance has been quite good, there's no denying that. But Starfleet is concerned with the more technical matters. The way you carry out your orders is what has them upset."

"Oh please," said Winchester. "You mean I had to come all this way because I didn't format my reports properly?"

"Don't be trite, Winchester!" Tomlinson snapped. Her short fuse had betrayed her yet again. She held up the datapad. "Do you know how many infractions are on this list? It's practically as long as my arm!"

"Then it must be a short list," Winchester said with a chuckle.

Tomlinson's body began to quiver with anger. "Computer, pause recording!" she shouted. When she heard the accompanying chirp, she threw the datapad against the wall. "Damn it, Beaumont! I want to make this as painless as possible on the both of us, but I can't have you joking around. You've got to take this seriously."

Winchester paused for a moment and studied the angry admiral. Part of being a captain meant finding ways out of tough situations, and this was no exception. He knew he had to play it cool. "Perhaps we can find some happy medium between my body language and yours," he said with a smile. "Is that fair?"

Tomlinson was starting to relax. "Look," she said, "I need to go over your record with you. Starfleet has left it to me to make sure that you aren't going to cause an incident somewhere."

"What are they concerned about?" asked Winchester.

Tomlinson stood up and walked over to the spot where she had thrown the datapad. She picked it up and began scanning the list. "The list of infractions has a wide range," she said. "Some of it is relatively minor, such as not submitting reports to Starfleet in a timely manner."

Winchester shrugged. "Sometimes it just slips my mind," he said.

"Others are more serious, like failing to report to an assigned location and going somewhere else," Tomlinson continued.

"I like to explore," said Winchester.

"Then, perhaps most seriously, there is the incident on Motavia IV," said Tomlinson. Her hazel eyes narrowed at Winchester. He could feel them penetrating his body. This was one incident he knew not to joke about.

"That was an accident," he said flatly. "I underestimated the amount of damage we had already done to the Romulan warbird."

"Your carelessness nearly incited a war with the Romulan Empire." Tomlinson finally sat back down. "Listen, Starfleet doesn't care if you don't report in on time. Hell, they hardly even read most of those reports. They get a little more upset when you don't go where you're told, but as long as the mission gets done, they let it slide. But destroying a Romulan ship, when you know how much tension already exists between our governments..."

"Let the record show," said Winchester, his voice beginning to rise, "that the reason I was out there in the first place was because Starfleet had slipped an undercover agent on board that ship. For reasons that were not of my doing, that mission had to be aborted, so I was called upon to extract him. Yes, an act of war may have been committed in that event, but I certainly wasn't the catalyst for it." Now it was his turn to glare at Tomlinson.

The admiral shifted in her seat and fiddled with her uniform. "I'm aware of that," she said. "Everyone looks bad because of that mission. But you must understand that the Romulans are still very upset, and we need to do something to calm them down and hope this all blows over."

"Just tell them Starfleet is conducting an internal inquiry. That should do the trick," said Winchester.

"We've told them that already," said Tomlinson. "That's partly why you and I are here right now. But the Romulans want to see something substantial from all of this. If they think we're blowing smoke, it could make things worse."

Winchester pointed to the replicator, signaling his desire to get something to drink. Tomlinson nodded and Winchester walked over to the device on the wall. "Water, cold," he said. A small glass of water materialized in the service tray. Winchester picked it up and took a sip as he headed back to his seat. "So what do you plan to do?" he asked.

Tomlinson's face became very sullen. "I'm sorry to say this, Beaumont," she said, "but you're being reassigned."

Winchester recoiled a bit at the word _reassigned_. He tried to maintain composure, but the frown on his usually bright face showed he was hurt. "Where am I going?" he asked.

"We're presently fitting a ship for launch here at the starbase. Her name is the _Silver Hawk_," said Tomlinson.

"I heard about it when I arrived," Winchester said. "She's an Ambassador-class, if I'm not mistaken."

Tomlinson nodded. "Correct," she said. "Most of the crew has already been assembled. We just need a captain and a first officer."

Winchester cleared his throat. "Might I be able to request a first officer? I have one in mind."

Tomlinson cringed. "I was afraid you'd say that," she said as she exhaled deeply. "Truthfully, Beaumont, I think that officer of yours is just as responsible for the trouble you get into as much as you are. I'd need to convince Starfleet that I can trust the two of you together."

"I'm pretty sure you can trust us," said Winchester. "Kirby and I went through the academy together and have known each other for years now. His crew morale rating is just as high as mine. We value each other's ideas, and in many cases I'd say we think alike."

"That's what worries me," said Tomlinson. "Commander Steele is usually a good officer, but his carefree style is just as bad as yours, if not worse. I need to know that if you're forced into a difficult situation, you can lead the ship as captain and not give in to the whims of your buddy."

"Do you have plans on putting us in a difficult situation?" Winchester asked.

"You need to be prepared for anything. That's the point I'm trying to make." Tomlinson paused, then glanced at the ceiling again. "Computer, what's the time?"

The computer chirped. "The time is 1900 hours," replied a female voice, the same one Starfleet had been using for decades.

Tomlinson tapped on the datapad a few times, then handed it to Winchester. "The complete crew log is listed there, as well as all the information about the ship. Your first mission orders are also there. I suggest you read them very carefully. I'll talk to Starfleet about assigning Commander Steele to your ship. In the meantime, read that information and get some sleep. You'll be departing at 0800 hours tomorrow. Dismissed."

Winchester rose from the chair and adjusted his uniform. He turned to leave.

"One more thing, Winchester," said Tomlinson, just as he was approaching the doorway. "Please be on your best behavior for this mission. It's your first one on a new ship. I'd like to hear that everything went smoothly."

Winchester nodded. "Understood, ma'am," he said and exited. The pneumatic doors slid shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

The following morning, Winchester received a bit of good news from Admiral Tomlinson. She managed to convince Starfleet to allow Kirby Steele, his longtime friend and colleague, to serve as first officer aboard the _Silver Hawk_. Winchester caught up to him on the way to the shuttle bay, where they would be riding over to the ship.

Unlike Winchester, whose commanding presence was supported by being tall, Steele was more average in height. He had a muscular build, in contrast to Winchester's rail-thin body, and had proven himself effective more than once in close combat. Crew members were often intimidated by Steele at first glance, but once his playful and carefree demeanor came through, they warmed to him quickly. He had made a conscious decision to keep his sandy brown hair short, but curly, in the hopes that it might separate him from the more traditional "stiffs" of Starfleet who had flat and smooth hairstyles. Winchester had such a style, but to Steele, he was a rare exception.

"Why did we have to get stuck with an Ambassador-class ship?" Steele asked Winchester. "I never liked them much. They're the epitome of compromise."

"Compromise works," said Winchester. "You get a little bit of everything."

"I don't want a little bit of everything," said Steele. "If you want a ship with maneuverability, get an Excelsior-class. If you want a ship with power, get a Galaxy-class. Instead, we get one that's in between, so it has elements of both classes without being as good as either one."

The pair reached the turbolift at the end of the deck. They stepped inside the small circular compartment. "Shuttlebay 3," said Winchester to the computer. The turbolift hummed as it started moving. "Look," Winchester said to Steele, "just be glad Admiral Tomlinson got you assigned with me. For all you know, you could have been stuck on a freighter doing delivery missions."

"Speaking of which," said Steele, "what's our first assignment going to be?"

"Didn't you get the report?" asked Winchester. Steele's response was a simple sideways glance, the kind of glance that implied he did get the report, but didn't read it. Winchester sighed. "Our first assignment is to go to the Belser system and rendezvous with a freighter. Once there, we're to collect some supplies from it and take them to a Federation colony on Epsilon Ceti IX. And judging by the tone of the report, we need to hurry. There are no other Federation ships in the area, and they need these supplies urgently."

"So we're doing a delivery mission, basically," said Steele.

Winchester nodded. "Basically," he said. "This is Admiral Tomlinson's way of keeping us out of trouble until Starfleet gets the Motavia incident cleared up."

The turbolift stopped and opened its doors. They had arrived at the shuttlebay. Workers in gold uniforms hurried around tending to their tasks. Winchester and Steele walked toward their shuttle, looking around at the commotion inside the bay. Their shuttlecraft was a Type 7 model, long and square, and freshly painted a mute grey. They stepped inside and took their seats in the cockpit.

"The ship is stationed outside. It shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes to arrive," said Winchester. He pressed some buttons and activated communications. "Bay control, this is the shuttlecraft _Aldridge_ requesting permission to depart."

"Acknowledged, _Aldridge_," said the bay controller. "State your authorization code and you can be on your way."

"Authorization code: Winchester Sierra-Foxtrot-Four-Nine-Echo-Romeo."

"Confirmed authorization. Safe passage, _Aldridge_," said the controller.

A warning siren began to wail in the shuttlebay. Any workers in the area hurried to evacuate before the decompression shields lowered. When the area was clear, the shield dropped with a flash and the bay doors opened. Winchester eased the shuttle forward into the space outside. Once they were clear of the shuttlebay, he switched the controls to auto-pilot and set the coordinates to the ship. The shuttle gently turned left, giving Winchester and Steele a frontal view of the _Silver Hawk_.

"They always look bigger in a shuttle," said Steele.

From the front, the _Silver Hawk_ clearly displayed the Ambassador-class style of architecture: Parts of it, such as the saucer section and main deflector dish, were neatly rounded in similar fashion to the Excelsior-class starships. The overall build of the ship, though, was smaller and more squat like a Galaxy-class vessel.

"Why are all the ships silver?" Steele asked. "Why can't they come in other colors?"

"In our case," said Winchester, "if it were another color, it wouldn't make sense to call it the _Silver Hawk_." He disengaged the auto-pilot and navigated the shuttlecraft along the starboard side of the ship. When the shuttle reached the rear, he made a hard turnabout to get into the ship's main shuttlebay.

Steele looked over the technical specs on a datapad. "We have a crew of one thousand, as well as five hundred civilian personnel," he said to Winchester. "I guess we really have to play it safe now."

Winchester nodded as he began to carefully lower the shuttle onto the floor of the shuttlebay. "We're not on a battle cruiser anymore, that's for sure," he said. "We can't afford to be daredevils."

After the decompression shields were raised, the back hatch to the shuttle hissed open. Winchester and Steele stepped outside and were greeted by a young bearded man in a gold uniform. Like Steele, he appeared well-built. His height was somewhere in between Steele and Winchester. His dark brown hair was short and thin, and neatly smoothed over. Steele eyed him as he would any other perceived "stiff" from Starfleet.

"Welcome aboard, Captain Winchester and Commander Steele," he said. His voice sounded a little grainy, but there was clearly a lisp or some type of speech impediment present. "I'm Lieutenant Commander Marcus Jordan. I've been assigned as the head of the Tactical department, as well as chief of security. I look forward to working with you both." He shook both men's hands. "If you'll follow me, I'll escort you to the turbolift and we can head to the bridge. I understand Starfleet wants us to be on our way soon."

"Indeed," said Winchester as the trio began walking. "Normally I'd take the time to meet with all my senior staff and get to know them a bit before departing, but we're on a time constraint. We'll have to exchange formalities on the way."

After getting in the turbolift, the group quickly arrived at the bridge. The room was circular and silver toned. The few officers presently on the bridge stood at attention when they saw the captain arrive.

"As you were," said Winchester. He and Steele walked around and started learning about the layout of the bridge. Three terminals were in the aft section. From left to right, they represented science, communications, and engineering. There were seats for each terminal, though Winchester knew these stations were not always manned. From there, the floor eased into ramps on either side. The tactical panel was built into the railing that outlined the ramp. From here, Winchester and Steele could see that there were four total doors on the bridge: two turbolifts, one to the aft and one to the fore and starboard side, a portside door to the captain's ready room, and an aft starboard side door to the conference room.

Steele and Winchester walked down the ramp to the lower level of the bridge. Positioned in the center against the tactical rail were two chairs. Winchester took the starboard chair, leaving Steele with the portside one. A few feet in front of their seats were two seated stations that looked like desks. The portside station was for general operations, and the starboard station was the Conn where the helmsman sat. Further forward was a table-like console for auxiliary systems, and finally there was the main viewscreen. At the moment, the Ops and Conn stations were unmanned.

Winchester pressed a button on the arm of his chair and activated communications. "Ops and Conn officers, report to the bridge," he declared.

"Computer, what is the current time?" asked Steele.

"The current time is 0812 hours," replied the computer.

Steele looked at Winchester with a smirk. "We're already late," he said. "We're starting off on a good note, aren't we?"

Winchester sighed. "Some things never change," he said. "I'll check in with engineering." He activated communications again. "Engineering, this is Captain Winchester. Report."

A light, cheery female voice responded. "Hello, Captain! This is Lieutenant Commander Madison Skye, chief of engineering, reporting in. Everything seems to be in order. I've been running diagnostics and efficiency tests on the engines for a month."

"Good to hear, Commander," said Winchester. "I'll be sure to meet you more formally once we've taken off."

"Just take care with these engines," said Skye. "It's a fresh warp core, but our cruising speed shouldn't go above Warp 7."

Steele chuckled. "Since when have we ever cared about Federation speed limits?"

"Since right now," said Winchester. "Remember, Admiral Tomlinson has made us her personal project. If you want to avoid having to talk to her regularly, you'd best start following the rules." He paused. "And that goes for me, too. We need to keep each other in line."

The aft turbolift opened and two officers scurried out, heading straight for the front terminals. The Conn officer was a woman of average height with shoulder-length black hair. She had curves, but did not appear overweight. Winchester noted the gold stripe that ran across the top of her uniform was not laying straight, a sign she may have put her uniform on in a hurry. She turned her chair around to face the captain.

"Sorry if I'm late, sir," she said. Her voice was deeper than most females, but it still retained a feminine quality. She had pale blue eyes and a full round face. Her body language clearly showed she was embarrassed.

Winchester saw two gold pips on her uniform collar; the mark of a lieutenant. "What's your name, Lieutenant?" he asked.

The lieutenant hesitated. Her eyes dropped to the floor briefly before looking back at Winchester. "Phillips, sir," she said. "Victoria Jane Phillips."

"Well, Lieutenant Phillips," said Winchester, "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Right now we're all a little behind schedule." He turned to the Ops officer. "What's your excuse?" he asked.

The officer stood and faced the captain. He seemed to be about the same height as Winchester, though certainly younger by a number of years. The red stripe of his uniform indicated he was in the command branch, and he had a single gold pip, the mark of an ensign. "Very sorry, sir. I got lost trying to find the right shuttle to take to get here," he said. His voice was on the deep side, but it cracked in a couple places, further underscoring just how young he was. He broke his stance to adjust his matted dirty blonde hair.

Winchester was silent for a moment as he waited for the ensign to give his name. When it did not happen, he sighed loudly. "Do I really have to prompt you to tell me your name, Ensign?"

"Sorry, sir," said the ensign. "My name is Colin Newell."

"Shouldn't you have already known that by reading the crew manifest?" Steele asked Winchester. From the tactical panel behind them, Jordan chuckled.

Winchester sighed. "I didn't have time to go over fifteen hundred names," he said. He noticed Newell was shifting his weight from foot to foot. He was nervous about something. "Is this your first time on a starship, Ensign?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," said Newell. "I've only been out of the academy for a month or so. I was told that Admiral Tomlinson personally assigned me here."

Winchester raised an eyebrow. "Did she now? I wonder why."

"She said that I would learn a lot under your leadership, sir, and that it might do you some good to be a mentor to a younger officer," said Newell.

Steele put his hand over his mouth and hid his smile. "Isn't that nice of Admiral Tomlinson to be looking out for you?" he asked Winchester.

Winchester groaned. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ensign," he said. "You may sit down and resume your duties."

Newell nodded and began working at his terminal. A series of short beeps sounded from his station. "Sir, we're getting a message from the starbase," he said. "It's Admiral Tomlinson. She's routing it directly to the main viewscreen."

The viewscreen blinked and Admiral Tomlinson's face appeared. She was sitting behind the desk in her office. Her brow was furrowed and she had her usual sour expression on her face. "Why haven't you left yet?" she demanded. "The _Silver Hawk _was due to depart half an hour ago."

"My apologies, Admiral," said Winchester. "I was just about to reprimand Ensign Newell for being late when –"

"Don't blame this on Ensign Newell!" said Tomlinson. "You're not off to a good start, Winchester. Get a move on. Tomlinson out." The viewscreen blinked back to the open space in front of the dock.

Winchester sighed and shook his head. "Lieutenant Phillips, lay in a course for the Belser sector at Warp 7," he said.

"Aye, sir," said Phillips.

The _Silver Hawk_ turned away from the starbase and moved forward at full impulse power. When the ship was a safe distance away, Lieutenant Commander Skye activated the warp engines. From the main bridge, the viewscreen showed an expanse of stars rushing forward very fast, so fast that they appeared to stretch and become infinitely long. There was a brief flash of light.

"We have reached warp speed," said Lieutenant Phillips. "At Warp 7, we will reach the Belser sector in approximately 16 hours."

Winchester rose from his chair. "I'll be in my ready room," he said. "Commander Steele, you have the bridge."


	3. Chapter 3

_Captain's Log, stardate 81011.1_

_The _Silver Hawk _is approaching the Belser sector, where we are to rendezvous with a freighter carrying supplies for a Federation outpost on Epsilon Ceti IX. The outpost needs these supplies faster than the freighter can deliver them, so it will be our job to get them to the outpost as quickly as possible._

* * *

"We're entering the Belser sector now, sir," said Phillips.

"Take us out of warp, Lieutenant," said Steele.

"Aye, sir," acknowledged Phillips. The stretching stars reformed to their original spherical shape as the _Silver Hawk_ slowed to impulse power.

Winchester emerged from his ready room. "Report, Commander," he said to Steele.

"We've just entered the Belser sector," Steele said, rising from his seat. "We should be able to contact the freighter shortly."

Newell's terminal beeped. "Sir, the freighter has entered sensor range," he said.

"Put it on screen, Ensign," said Winchester.

With a blink, the freighter filled the viewscreen. It was an Antares-class, small and not very wide, but rather box-like. Winchester and the bridge crew saw the aft section on the viewscreen, where the freighter's three impulse engines were located. They did not appear lit, which suggested the freighter was not moving. Additionally, the freighter appeared to be tilted at an awkward angle, almost as if it was listing to the starboard side.

"Something doesn't look right," said Steele.

"I agree," said Winchester. "Mister Jordan, hail the freighter."

Jordan tapped a few buttons on the tactical panel. It returned a low buzzing sound. "I can't establish a connection," he said. "Their comm system may be damaged."

"Captain," said Newell, "scans indicate heavy damage to the starboard side of the vessel." His terminal beeped and delivered more output. "Impulse engines are offline, and the shield generators are overloaded."

"They took a pretty nasty beating," said Steele. "Scan the damaged part of the freighter. See if you can determine what hit them."

Newell complied. "The freighter was damaged with a concentrated energy blast. Most of the burn marks on the hull are located in the area of the impulse engines."

"Seems whoever attacked them wanted them to be crippled," said Winchester.

"But why? What would anyone want with a freighter like this?" asked Steele.

"Sir," said Newell, "I'm only detecting one life sign aboard the freighter. It's faint, but there is a survivor."

"A full crew on this type of ship is about a dozen," said Steele.

Winchester tapped the comm badge on his uniform. "Winchester to sickbay," he said.

"This is sickbay, Chief Medical Officer Jason Campbell reporting."

"Doctor Campbell, prepare to receive a wounded pilot from the freighter," said Winchester.

"Acknowledged. Standing by," said Campbell.

"Transporter room 1, get a lock on the officer and beam him directly into sickbay," ordered Winchester. His attention returned to Newell. "Ensign, begin scanning the area for any other ships. Also, locate the supplies on that freighter and beam them into cargobay 2."

"Aye, sir," said Newell, tapping buttons on his terminal.

Winchester and Steele sat down. "It may be a while before Doctor Campbell finishes examining the pilot," said Winchester. "We might have to return here after we deliver the supplies."

Steele nodded. "Understood." He sighed. "I still don't get why anyone would attack a freighter like this. The supplies we're taking aren't of any value to anyone else, are they?"

Winchester shook his head. "We're delivering some rations of food, some medical supplies, some technical equipment, but that's about it," he said. "We're not dealing with weapons or anything serious."

"Shall I send a message to Admiral Tomlinson informing her of our situation?" asked Jordan.

"Not yet, Mister Jordan," said Winchester. "Let's finish the mission we were sent to do first. There's no reason to alarm Admiral Tomlinson until after we deliver the supplies."

"Sir," said Newell, "I think we have a problem."

Winchester's eyebrows furrowed. "Explain," he said.

"I can't find the supplies on the freighter," Newell replied.

"Did you scan the entire vessel?" asked Steele.

"Yes, sir," said Newell. "I've done it twice. There's nothing on the ship. If those supplies were there, someone must have taken them."

Winchester drew a deep breath. "Lieutenant Phillips, hold our position here. Ensign Newell, see if you can increase the sensors to detect any other life signs or cargo on that ship. I'm heading to sickbay." He rose from his chair and walked to the aft turbolift. He stopped just as the doors slid open. "One more thing," he said. "Mister Jordan…"

"Yes, sir?" said Jordan.

Winchester sighed before continuing. "Mister Jordan, send a subspace message to Admiral Tomlinson. Inform her we've run into some trouble and we're going to be delayed." He stepped into the turbolift and the grey doors slid shut.

* * *

Doctor Campbell waved his tricorder along the pilot's body, who was laying on one of the bed units. "He seems relatively stable," he said to one of the attending nurses. "See if you can get him cleaned up a bit. His face has collected a lot of grime from debris in the attack."

Winchester entered the sickbay and strode up to Campbell. He was surprised to see that Campbell was a few inches taller than him and built rather stocky. He had a young, round face with very short dark brown hair. Rather than the traditional medical uniform, Campbell was wearing a long blue overcoat with a light grey undershirt.

"What's his status, Doctor?" asked Winchester.

"He doesn't have any life-threatening injuries," said Campbell. "He has a few minor burns from the attack, a couple cuts and bruises, but he'll live."

"May I speak with him now?"

Campbell nodded. "I'll be in my office checking his blood work."

Winchester walked to the pilot's bed and sat down beside him. He looked over the pilot, who was not wearing a Starfleet uniform, but rather a generic brown coat. He was human, and his face was marred with oil and dust, as well as some cuts from the attack on the freighter. His matted hair looked black, but it was hard to tell how much of that may have been due to exposure to dust and debris.

The pilot tried to sit up. He coughed once before speaking. "You must be the captain," he said. His voice sounded slightly hoarse. "My name's Samuelson. I was the helmsman on the freighter."

"How many people were on your ship?" asked Winchester.

"There were six of us," said Samuelson. "Our engineer was killed trying to repair the systems during the attack. I'm not sure about anyone else, but that ship can't take much abuse. I fear the worst for them."

Winchester nodded. His face was solemn. "Yours was the only life sign we detected. I'm sorry, Samuelson."

Samuelson closed his eyes and sighed. "Damn," he said.

"Can you tell me what happened?" said Winchester. "Do you know who attacked you?"

"We detected a Ferengi ship on our sensors just before we were attacked," said Samuelson. "They knew how to maneuver and hit us in all the right spots. Of course we don't have any armaments, so we were completely defenseless. I blacked out when my terminal blew up. I guess I should feel lucky I'm not worse off than I am right now."

"Is that all you remember?" asked Winchester. "Do you know if they boarded you after you were disabled?"

"I don't know," said Samuelson. "After I lost consciousness, the next thing I remember is waking up here. Why do you ask? Did they take the supplies for Epsilon Ceti?"

Winchester nodded. "It looks that way. We're trying to figure out why they would have attacked you and taken the supplies."

Samuelson shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine," he said. "It's not like they have any use for the stuff we were carrying."

The overhead comm unit chirped. "Captain to the bridge," said Commander Steele.

"Acknowledged," said Winchester. "We'll talk later. If you remember anything, let me know," he said to Samuelson.

* * *

Winchester returned to the bridge. Steele was standing in the center looking at the viewscreen. "Report," said Winchester.

"We have a visitor," said Steele, pointing to the screen. "Our sensors picked up a ship dropping out of warp just a few minutes ago. Closer inspection revealed it to be a Ferengi marauder heading right for us."

Winchester looked to the screen. On the other side of the damaged freighter was the recognizable shape of a Ferengi vessel. It was a half-moon shaped ship, colored a metallic orange. Jutting from the center of its arcing shape was the front section, which was very rectangular by comparison.

"We raised our shields as soon as they got within weapons range," said Jordan, standing at the tactical station. "Their weapons are not powered up, however."

"Open a hailing frequency," said Winchester. Steele returned to his seat.

"Frequency open, sir," said Jordan.

Winchester drew in a deep breath. "This is Captain Beaumont Winchester of the Federation starship _Silver Hawk_. State your intentions for being in this sector."

The viewscreen changed to the bridge section of the Ferengi ship. Seated in the center and taking up most of the screen was the captain. He appeared to be an older Ferengi, judging by the wrinkles on his face and nose. His face seemed recessed because of the protruding forehead, which was more exaggerated than most Ferengi, and he had the typical oversized oval earlobes.

"Greetings, Captain," he said smiling, revealing rows of jagged teeth. "My name is Voc. I suppose you might say I'm a businessman of sorts, and I'm passing through this sector on one of my ventures. I don't believe I'm violating any Federation laws, am I?"

Steele sprang up from his seat and leaned in close to Winchester. "I should point out, sir," he whispered, "that we're currently in a section of non-aligned space. We can't exactly detain him unless we have evidence of wrongdoing."

"We'll see about that," Winchester whispered back. He returned his attention to Voc. "I don't suppose you know anything about this damaged freighter we've discovered, do you, Voc?"

"I can see that they were attacked," said Voc. "Such a shame, really. These parts are dangerous, I hear. Pirates like to prey on unsuspecting ships."

"How very interesting you should say that," said Winchester, looking to the Ops station. "Ensign Newell, where's the nearest Ferengi outpost from this location?"

"According to our records," said Newell, "the nearest outpost is seven days away at Warp 8."

"My goodness," said Winchester. "You must have come a long way, Voc."

"Are you implying something, Captain?" Voc growled.

"Not at all," said Winchester. "But you must admit, your presence here at this time is highly coincidental, don't you think?"

"Captain," said Jordan, "scans of the Ferengi weapons banks show increased core temperatures, well above normal parameters."

"That means nothing," said Voc. "Our systems may have been overheating."

"But that sort of thing doesn't happen on its own," said Winchester. "An overheated weapons system usually occurs after it's been fired. Do you run into a lot of phaser fire along this route, Voc?"

Voc shifted in his chair uneasily. "You can never be too careful, Captain. Now, perhaps you would allow me to explain why I'm here."

"Please do," said Winchester.

"Well, as I said before, I'm a businessman," Voc said, folding his hands in his lap. "I look for a profit in any way I can, and I don't discriminate in my clientele. But as any smart businessman would do, I like to offer certain goods to those clients who have the most interest."

Winchester rolled his eyes. "Is this going somewhere?" he asked.

"Ah, right to the point. Very good," Voc chuckled. "Well, I ran across an interesting shipment of supplies that a Federation ship like yours might like to purchase."

Winchester looked back at Steele, who raised his eyebrows. "I'm listening," he said.

"Well, it's not much, you see. I have some containers of food, some medical equipment, various things of that nature. I imagine it would be very handy for an outpost or small colony." Voc grinned, clearly revealing how smug he felt.

Winchester folded his arms across his chest. "Those things don't fall from the sky, Voc. I don't suppose you could tell me where you got these supplies, could you?"

Voc raised his arms in the air slightly. "I'm afraid, Captain, that information must be kept secret. I don't like to reveal my sources."

"Sir," said Newell, "I found something interesting here."

Winchester turned to Jordan and signaled for him to mute the audio. "What is it, Ensign?"

"I just scanned his cargo hold. He doesn't have anything that matches the missing supplies," said Newell.

"What's he trying to do? Scam us?" asked Steele.

Winchester shook his head. "He knows what he's doing. He's not carrying the merchandise because he knows we'd try to take it. He must have hidden it somewhere else, either on a planet or another ship."

"That doesn't sound typical of the Ferengi," said Steele. "They're cautious, but this is taking it a step further."

Winchester nodded. "Agreed. He's up to something. I think we should play for time." He signaled to Jordan to restore the audio. "I'm considering your offer, Voc," he said. "I need a little time before I make a decision."

Voc flashed another toothy smile. "Of course. But you must understand, Captain, my time is precious. I will give you one hour to make me an offer." The viewscreen reverted to showing the Ferengi ship.

Steele rose from his seat. "I don't suppose we have money stashed away on the ship somewhere," he said.

Winchester smiled. "If only it were that simple," he said. "No, I think he wants something more substantial, probably weapons or something like that."

"If that's the case," said Steele, "what do you plan to do?"

"I haven't decided yet," said Winchester. "It's clear the supplies are somewhere else, so we need to find a way to get him to reveal where they are."

The tactical panel beeped. "Sir," said Jordan, "we have an incoming message from Starfleet." He looked down at the panel and paused. "It's Admiral Tomlinson. She's requesting to speak with you directly."

Winchester groaned. "Wonderful," he said.

"So much for not raising the alarm," said Steele.

"Patch the transmission to my ready room," said Winchester. He sighed as he left the bridge, preparing to explain the situation to the admiral.


	4. Chapter 4

"You cannot seriously be considering Voc's offer," said Tomlinson.

"I think I do have to consider it seriously," said Winchester. He was talking to Tomlinson through the small computer unit on the desk in his ready room.

"The Federation has made it clear on numerous occasions that we do not deal with terrorists, pirates, or any other merchantmen of ill repute," Tomlinson insisted.

"Is that how it reads in the rulebook?" said Winchester. "Does it actually say 'ill repute' somewhere?"

Tomlinson growled. "What have I told you about being serious, Beaumont? This is a grave matter."

"I'm aware of that, Admiral," said Winchester. "I know the colony on Epsilon Ceti IX needs these supplies, and they need them urgently. It's because of that urgency that I feel we have no choice but to give Voc whatever it is that he wants."

"What if he wants more than money?" Tomlinson demanded. "What if he wants something like weapons? You can't just hand over something like that without knowing where it's going."

Winchester nodded. "I agree. But if it comes to that, what can we do? I think we're stuck."

Tomlinson sighed. "You already said he doesn't have them on his ship, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Winchester. "We scanned his ship during our conversation. I don't know if he noticed."

"That may work to our advantage," said Tomlinson. "You need to find out where those supplies have been hidden. Promise him anything he wants, but don't let him get it in writing. Be clever. Let him think you're giving in."

"Understood, Admiral," said Winchester.

"Keep me posted. Tomlinson out."

Winchester closed the computer and looked around the ready room. Unlike the bridge, which had silver tones, this room was varying shades of blue. It was roughly hexagonal in shape, and it had enough space for his desk against one wall and a long couch against another. Directly behind his desk was a large window where he could look out at the stars. On the wall opposite the couch, he had a mounted replicator unit. There wasn't much, but for a ready room, it was really all he needed.

There was a beep at his door. "Come in," he said.

The door opened and Steele walked in. "Captain, we found something that might be helpful for our situation," he said.

Winchester offered Steele a seat across from his desk. "What did you find?" he asked.

"We ran Voc's name through the Starfleet database," said Steele. "It turns out he's made quite a name for himself. He's wanted in a number of sectors for smuggling, piracy, you name it."

"That obviously damages his credibility," said Winchester, "but not much else. Samuelson can't positively identify him as the one who attacked his freighter because they were never hailed and they didn't have time to scan the ship fully. We can't detain him without solid evidence."

"We may not have to," said Steele. "There's also a standing warrant for his arrest from the Klingon Empire. As luck would have it, we made contact with two Birds-of-Prey in a nearby sector. Voc's been busy around these parts and they're looking to bring him in."

"Ah," said Winchester with a smile. "Have you told them where we are?"

"Yes, sir," said Steele. "They're about two hours away, but they're coming as fast as they can."

"Then we'll have to play for more time," said Winchester. "Our hour is just about up. Admiral Tomlinson and I agree that we need to play along with Voc, let him think we're serious about his deal. He needs to show us where he's hidden the supplies before we can do anything else."

"Then I guess it's time we spoke to him again," said Steele.

Winchester nodded. The two men rose from their seats and returned to the bridge. "Hail the Ferengi ship, Mister Jordan," said Winchester, taking a seat in his chair.

The viewscreen blinked back to the Ferengi bridge. Voc was seated in his chair. "Captain," he said with his toothy smile. "I presume you've considered my offer?"

"I have," said Winchester. He leaned to one side of his chair and slouched a bit, pretending to be very relaxed, hands folded in his lap. "I'm sure you'll understand, Voc, that I'm very particular when I make these deals."

"It is a wise practice, Captain," said Voc. "Perhaps you have a little Ferengi blood in you, hm?"

Winchester smiled. "Maybe. In any case, I would request that before I offer you any sort of compensation for these supplies, I want to actually see what it is I'm buying."

Voc frowned. "You don't trust me, Captain? I've already told you what I have."

"I know exactly what you told me, Voc," said Winchester. "And quite frankly, no, I don't trust you. Unless I can see exactly what you have and inspect it personally, I'm not buying anything."

Voc sighed. "Well, Captain, unfortunately I don't have the merchandise on board my ship. If you had been willing to buy the supplies, I would have taken you to it. But, as I said before, my time is precious, and I cannot afford to make such a trip without getting something in return. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way."

"Don't be so sure about that," Winchester said before Voc cut communications. "You see, there's still this business about the damaged freighter to deal with."

"I had nothing to do with that," Voc growled.

"Of course not," said Winchester. "But I have one of the pilots of that freighter in my sickbay right now, and he swears it was a Ferengi ship that attacked him. Now, you're the only Ferengi ship in the area and the nearest Ferengi outpost is a long distance away. I understand that could be coincidental, but just to be safe, I've requested another Federation ship to assist in our investigation. At maximum warp, they should be here any minute. I'm sure you won't mind waiting to answer a few questions, would you?"

All the bridge officers looked at Winchester with surprise. They knew that no such ship was coming. He was playing a dangerous bluff. Winchester did not say anything more, nor did he look anywhere but directly into Voc's eyes on the viewscreen.

Voc licked his lips and swallowed hard, his eyes breaking from Winchester's gaze. "Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to show you the merchandise," he said. "We can discuss payment after you've seen it. I will send the coordinates to you now. But I warn you, do not waste my time." He ceased communication and the viewscreen returned to the view of space. The marauder began to turn away from the _Silver Hawk_.

"The marauder is entering warp," said Jordan. "It's heading for the coordinates Voc sent us: 307 by 912 by 186." He began cross-referencing the coordinates with the Starfleet maps. "Sir," he said, his voice wavering slightly, "these coordinates take us beyond the Neutral Zone and into Romulan territory."

"How far in?" asked Winchester.

"At Warp 8, it would be approximately one hour from the border of the Neutral Zone to these coordinates," said Phillips. "From here, our journey at Warp 8 will take about four hours."

"Even if it's only for a couple hours," said Steele, "I really don't like the idea of being anywhere near Romulan space."

"Nor I, Kirby," said Winchester, "but we need to get those supplies back. I don't know what sort of game Voc is playing by using Romulan space to hide stolen merchandise, but we need to put a stop to it quickly. Mister Jordan, relay those coordinates to the Klingon ships. Tell them to meet us there as soon as possible. Miss Phillips, set a course at Warp 8."

"Course laid in, sir," said Phillips.

Winchester pointed forward, reminiscent of the style of Jean-Luc Picard. "Engage," he said. The stars began to stretch as the _Silver Hawk _entered warp.

* * *

_Captain's Log, supplemental_

_We are venturing deep into Romulan space to rendezvous with Voc and appraise the stolen cargo. While I hope everything can be resolved quickly and without incident, I admit I am more than a little uneasy at the prospect of encountering Romulans. I am also unsure as to how I am expected to pay Voc for the cargo._

* * *

The _Silver Hawk _slowed to impulse at the coordinates given by Voc. His marauder was there, motionless, but there was nothing else in the area; there were no planets, other ships, or even asteroids. There was only the expanse of space before the two ships.

"Well, we're here," said Steele, "but there's nowhere he could have stored the cargo. What's he playing at?"

"I intend to find out," said Winchester. "Mister Jordan, hail Voc's ship."

"Aye, sir," said Jordan. Suddenly several beeps and chirps sounded from the tactical panel. "Sir, sensors are picking up two Romulan warbirds decloaking dead ahead!"

"Shields up! Go to red alert," barked Steele. The alert siren wailed on the bridge. On the viewscreen, the two warbirds materialized behind Voc's ship. Being warships, they easily dwarfed the marauder and were comparable in size to the _Silver Hawk_. Their hulking green frame was recognizable, as was the beak-like front section. The sides curved out in an oval shape, almost like wings.

"Mister Jordan, I hope you're arming the phasers and photon torpedoes back there," said Winchester.

Jordan frantically tapped the necessary buttons to arm the weapons systems. "Sir, the Romulans are powering their disruptors."

"All hands, brace for impact!" shouted Steele.

"Wait," said Jordan as he analyzed the tactical readout. "They're not targeting us. They're targeting the Ferengi ship."

A second later, a green disruptor blast emerged from each warbird and shot directly at the marauder. The marauder, being caught by surprise, did not have its shields raised and was destroyed almost instantly. A bright flash filled the screen then dissipated. All that was left of the marauder was debris.

The tactical station beeped. "Sir," said Jordan, "we are receiving a hail from one of the Romulan ships."

Winchester stood up, adjusted his uniform, and took a deep breath. "Put it on screen," he said.

The screen showed the Romulan bridge section. Its layout was clearly different than the Federation starships. Everything was on one level, with standing terminals everywhere. The walls were dark shades of grey, and any computer panels were lit with a bright green backdrop. Seated in the center of the screen was the Romulan commander, complete with the standard silver military uniform – square shoulders and all. His facial features were very distinct – every angle of his long face appeared to be square and rigid, his dark eyes were narrow, and the Romulan bowler-cut hairstyle with pointed ears capped off his intimidating presence. In the background, another officer was moving from terminal to terminal inspecting each one.

"I am T'ranvor, commander of the warbird _Pol'ar_," he said. His voice had a strong nasal tone to it. "You are violating Romulan space. Identify yourselves at once."

"This is Captain Beaumont Winchester of the Federation starship _Silver Hawk_. We are here to –" he paused, unsure if he should reveal his intentions to the Romulans right away. "We came here following that Ferengi ship you just destroyed," he said after a moment.

T'ranvor balked as Winchester gave his name, but quickly composed himself. "Intriguing," he said. "Tell me, Captain Winchester, what business does a Federation vessel have with a Ferengi criminal this far into Romulan territory?"

"What business do you have destroying that ship when it showed no sign of provocation against you?" countered Winchester.

"He violated our space and was dealt with accordingly," T'ranvor said flatly. "I suggest you answer my questions, Captain, lest your ship meet a similar fate."

"I'm not here to start an incident, T'ranvor," said Winchester. "I just want to collect what rightfully belongs on my ship."

T'ranvor smirked. "I find it amusing, Captain Winchester, that _you_ of all people do not wish to start an incident."

"I don't know what you mean," said Winchester.

"You will, in time," said T'ranvor. "Tell me what it is that you are looking for."

Winchester looked back at Steele, though he did not know what response he expected to get from him. Steele's reply was nothing more than a shrug, as if to say that it was his decision how much he should choose to reveal. Winchester cleared his throat. "One of our freighters was attacked in the Belser sector. We had reason to believe that Ferengi vessel was responsible for crippling it and making off with its cargo. Their captain, Voc, was trying to extort us in exchange for the supplies."

"This is all very interesting," T'ranvor droned, "but I fail to see how this explains your presence here."

"Voc gave us these coordinates when we agreed to buy the supplies back from him. We believe he was hiding them here somewhere," said Winchester.

"An interesting theory," said T'ranvor, "but not very believable. As you can see, there is nowhere here for him to hide anything."

"That seems true," said Winchester. He was keeping his composure as best he could, but he noticed himself tapping his foot. He was becoming annoyed with T'ranvor and his instincts were telling him this Romulan was hiding something. "Unfortunately, since you so recklessly destroyed his ship, we have no way of finding out where the supplies are located."

"Commander," said the other Romulan, just barely on the _Silver Hawk_'s viewscreen, "the Federation ship is scanning our cargo hold!"

T'ranvor's head whipped around to face his officer. "Why aren't the shields raised, you fool?" he snapped.

"Captain," said Newell, "I found something in the _Pol'ar_'s cargo hold that seems to match one of the missing items from the freighter."

"Are you sure?" asked Winchester.

"Not completely, sir," said Newell. "I couldn't get a positive match before their shields went up."

T'ranvor faced the viewscreen again, this time glaring at Winchester. "Captain, this could be considered an act of aggression against the Romulan Empire. You have no right to search our ship without explicit permission."

"Commander," said Winchester, matching T'ranvor's glare, "if I find out that your ship is holding stolen Federation supplies, _that_ could also be considered an act of aggression. Maybe you should drop the bravado."

"The only one with bravado here is you, Captain," said T'ranvor. "If you want to see anything in my ship's cargo hold, you will have to take it by force. But I warn you, at the moment we outnumber you two-to-one, and you have no idea how many other cloaked ships may be nearby. The odds are not on your side." He terminated the transmission.

"The warbirds are targeting their disruptors on us," said Jordan.

Winchester's breathing became more rapid. He could feel his heartbeat increasing. Taking on one warbird was challenging enough, but two against one was virtually suicide.

"We can't make a run for it," said Steele. "Even at maximum warp, it would take almost an hour to get out of Romulan space."

"Mister Jordan," said Winchester, "prepare a full salvo of photon torpedoes, spread pattern 'alpha.' I want a series of short phaser bursts at both ships immediately afterward." He looked around the bridge. "Hold on tight, everybody," he said, sinking back into his chair.

As Jordan readied the torpedoes, a familiar chirp sounded from the tactical station. He checked it, and for a brief second he grinned. "Captain," he said, "they're here."

On the main viewscreen, the shapes of two Klingon Birds-of-Prey materialized, one behind each Romulan warbird. They were already in attack position, with their weapons wings extended horizontally.

"Looks like the fight just got a little fairer," said Steele.

"The _Pol'ar_ is hailing us again, sir," said Jordan.

Winchester smiled, but did not rise from his chair this time. "On screen," he said. T'ranvor's face filled the viewscreen once again. "Well, Commander, it looks like three ships against two now. It seems the odds are not on _your_ side." The smile on Winchester's face was visible the whole time he spoke; he had never been good at hiding his smugness.

"Captain," said T'ranvor, "it has come to my attention that there is some Federation cargo on board my ship. I have no idea how it could have gotten there, but I would be more than happy to return it to its rightful owner." He still had the same stone-faced expression as before, but Winchester could tell he was nervous at the thought of fighting against two Klingon ships.

"That sounds like a reasonable idea," said Winchester. "After all, we wouldn't want to cause an incident with our governments, would we?"

"Of course not," said T'ranvor. "I will lower my shields first, and then I will beam the supplies over after you have lowered yours." The transmission ended.

"I don't think he'll try anything funny with two Klingon ships at his back," Steele said to Winchester.

"I know he won't," said Winchester. "Mister Jordan, lower our shields after the _Pol'ar_ has lowered theirs. Ensign Newell, send a message to the Klingon ships thanking them for their assistance. Lieutenant Phillips, after the supplies have been beamed aboard, set a course for Epsilon Ceti IX, maximum warp. I want to get the hell out of here."

* * *

_Captain's Log, supplemental_

_We are now in orbit around Epsilon Ceti IX. The supplies have been delivered to the colony and a potential crisis has been averted. I must now file my report on the mission, which means once again speaking to Admiral Tomlinson._

* * *

"I'm still not sure why the Romulans would have any interest in taking away supplies from such a remote colony," said Winchester, speaking to Admiral Tomlinson through his ready room computer.

Tomlinson pursed her lips. "Well, Epsilon Ceti IX is rather close to Romulan territory. Maybe they thought if they could disrupt supply routes, the colonists would have to leave and the planet would be theirs for the taking."

"That sounds awfully aggressive," said Winchester.

Tomlinson nodded and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "I agree. It's a little too soon to start pointing fingers, though. This is only one incident. We'll be keeping a very close eye in and around the Neutral Zone, monitoring their activity." She took a sip of coffee before continuing. "Considering everything that happened on this mission, I think you did quite well, Beaumont."

"Thank you, Admiral," Winchester said. "It was certainly more intense than most ships' maiden voyages are."

Tomlinson laughed. "If you thought that was tough, you should read Jean-Luc Picard's report about the _Enterprise_'s maiden voyage to the Farpoint station."

Winchester smiled. "Point taken," he said. "We'll be leaving orbit soon and heading to Starbase 112."

"Understood, Captain. Tomlinson out."

The door buzzer chirped. "Come in," said Winchester.

Steele entered the room and sat on the couch. "Now _that _was a heck of a mission," he said. "To think that we were so close to tussling with two Romulan warbirds…"

"You sound disappointed," said Winchester.

Steele shrugged. "I'm glad we didn't have to, but still, you have to admit there was a little bit of a thrill about crossing into Romulan territory."

"Maybe a little," said Winchester. He sighed. "I don't know. Maybe I have a different outlook on the Romulans after what happened at Motavia."

"Hey, that was an accident," said Steele. "Everyone knows that, except maybe the Romulans. Starfleet did their job and reassigned you. It's not like they demoted you or anything."

"I know," said Winchester, "but after going through that, then almost having to fight two warbirds, I think my perspective is changing. I can't be the wild carefree captain anymore."

"That attitude made you famous, in a way," said Steele.

"But for all the wrong reasons," Winchester quickly added. "Being reassigned here was a smart move on the part of Starfleet. It's given me a chance to clean up my act and play it straight from now on."

"I hope you're not going to turn into a stiff," said Steele.

"No, of course not," Winchester chided. "I'm still Beaumont Winchester, and there are parts of my personality that will always shine through, no matter what ship I'm on or what mission I'm running. But from this day forward, I'm going to be a little smarter about how I conduct myself. And I'll expect the same from you as well as the rest of the crew."

Steele nodded. "Understood, sir," he said. "Now, I believe we have an appointment with Starbase 112. We don't want to be late."

Both men stood up and headed for the door. "You know," said Winchester, "I have a feeling we're going to have some fun and interesting adventures on this ship."

Steele chuckled. "With the two of us in command, you can count on it."

THE END


End file.
